


Hyperspace

by fadesfanfic



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Sparring, saeyt doraz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadesfanfic/pseuds/fadesfanfic
Summary: Saeyt Doraz (aka Tank) and Aric Jorgan are in hyperspace on the way to Taris, and it's really boring. They decide to spar to pass the time.





	Hyperspace

If Tank had to spend one more day in hyperspace, she was going to rip her headtails off.

She'd already worked out. Two times as often as normal. And checked the engines (again). Read the report Garza had given her on Taris and their new objective so often she had it memorized. She had tons of stuff to do. But the truth is she was so frickin bored.

She was born in hyperspace. Maybe that would be romantic to some people, you know. “Born amongst the stars”. She practically grew up there, with her and Mom and Deex bouncing around between ships, Mom and Deex offering protection, Tank offering... well, nothing. She was a kid. She'd seen more of hyperspace than most people her age, and her incredibly educated opinion on the matter was this: it sucked.

Nah, the planets were the place to be. Not one planet your whole life, that would be boring, obviously. But when other people looked to the stars with wonder, she looked to the sky. Let that cool breeze wash over you, the sun warm your skin, let yourself move because you're in a big open space for the first time in weeks. Go out and see what trouble you can kick up. That's where the fun was for her.

And her new job had plenty of fun. Well, she knows that Sergeant Jorgan would get that disapproving look on his face if she called it “fun”. Another “Lieutenant, this is serious” conversation. But she can't help it. Fighting has always been a game for her. Her mom taught her hand to hand since she could stand, first with easy coordination drills, then getting onto the actual sparring stuff. She was introduced to a vibrosword later, and a blaster after that. None of it was done with a “Oh you're going to need these skills one day because you're fighting in a war” - nah, Mom let her pick her own fate. She just made learning self defense interesting. It was always a contest. When she went out in the battlefield, it was serious, sure. But the parts of her brain that aren't adrenaline and strategizing shut down, and what was left was her, calculating the best way to get out of the situation – but also having fun. 

Also, she got to meet new people, so that was a win. But you can't meet new people in hyperspace!

She paces around the ship again, not really thinking of anything except being somewhere else, and almost bumps into Jorgan.

Jorgan's a weird little guy. Okay, he's average sized. But Tank's two meters and 115 kilos of muscle, so that's little to her. His face always looks angry, but she figures its just how his eyebrows worked. He's been fun to hang out with, despite the occasional lecture. 

“Lieutenant,” he says formally, and steps to the side. 

“Always so professional,” she says with a smile, and playfully punches him in the arm. 

He blinks and rubs his arm. 

Hard guy to get a read on. 

“Anything that needs doing?” she asks.

Jorgan shakes his head. “Not since you asked me last time...” he checks his chrono “2 hours ago”.

Tank nods. “Right, right.”

There's an awkward silence. At least, Tank thinks its awkward. She's kind of bad at reading these things.

She'd blame growing up mostly around spacers in fairly isolated ships, but honestly, it's probably her autism. 

“You can relax,” Jorgan says. “Our ships not due for seventeen hours.”

“Seventeen hours?” Tank says. “Oh man, that's even worse than I thought.” 

Jorgan watches her out of the corner of his eye as she continues to bounce around the ship.

“You weren't this antsy on Essels,” he says. 

Tank grins. Essels was a travel vessel. A quick jump from the fleet to Coruscant, and on the way they were attacked by an Imperial battlecruiser. She invaded it with the help of a Sith smuggler named Tai, and they saved the day. Pretty interesting mission, if you ask her. Her moods dampened a little when she remembers people died, though. 

“Essels was like a mission,” she says. “You can't get bored on missions.” 

Jorgan shrugs. 

Tank paces again.

“We could spar,” he says. “You seem to be looking for um, physical activity. With the pacing and working out.”

Tank feels her entire face light up. Sparring! The one balm for the utter monotony of hyperspace. 

“Sure,” she says. “But I need to warn you – I'm pretty good.”

“So am I,” he says.

“Bet I'm better.”

He sighs, but nods. He steps forwards, looking up at her.

“Prove it.”

Tank grins. They get to the cargohold – a nice, empty space – and Tank takes off her boots. Jorgan leaves to quickly get changed and comes back in shorts and a t-shirt. 

Tank takes note of him. He's a good 25 centimeters shorter than her, so he has a shorter reach. Got to keep that in mind. She hasn't seen his hand to hand enough to know what to do about his actual fighting though.

He stands, left hand forwards. Tank gets right hand forwards, even though she's right-handed. She's been told that's how you stand if you prefer your other side, to make your hooks stronger, but whatever. It's one of her quirks.

“No eyes, no knees, no groin?” Tank asks.

“Or anything that does lasting damage,” Jorgan adds.

Tank grins. “Yeah, yeah, I'll save it for the enemy.”

He starts, almost too fast to dodge, with a quick jab-cross combo to the face, which Tank absorbs with her arms up in guard. She kicks and he steps back to avoid it. 

He waits a little, probably waiting to see how she comes in, and she obliges. Starts with a sweep out to his ankle and tries to grab his front hand to take him down, but he keeps out of range. 

They're testing each other. Tank knows this. She smiles. 

Jorgan goes off with a couple punches again, and Tank feels the world narrow around her. That's always how it is when she's sparring. Just her and her opponent.

He gets her in the ribs and she clocks him in the head, and they each take a step back. Tank fills her lungs with air and Jorgan rubs the side of his head where he got clipped. 

Then it's back on. Each of them seems to be waiting for the other to make the first move, and Tank savors the anticipation. Sparring is too much fun for her to stop smiling.

He comes in with a kick that Tank steps back from, and then moves in with a jab. This time, she times herself perfectly, and hooks his front hand with hers and pulls him into a sidekick, straight to the ribs.

She's experienced enough to check it so it doesn't damage anything, though. 

Now, while he's scrambling for a re-grab, she tries her takedown. Take the leg up, push the chest down, and wham! They're on the floor.

Grappling, her size makes the advantage is decisively hers. 

He knows this too, and tries to scramble to get away. But as he's standing up, she tackles him and jumps on top. 

He's pinned, but not giving up. When she pushes down both his arms to each side of his head, he moves them quickly in a semi-circle towards his hips and bucks forward – too quick for her to react to just muscle him down. 

He rolls her over and tries to get on top, but Tank can trap him with her legs. She takes this as a breathing opportunity. She wants to win, not some weird stalemate thing, so she figures a choke or armbar is her best bet. He might go for a leg bar – he is positioned near her legs – but she's always viewed those as harder, especially if the person you're barring has buff legs.

If he'd just punch to her face, she could trap his arm again and the advantage would be hers. Come on, Jorgan! 

He must have payed attention last time though, because he's moving slower and more deliberately. More grapple-y and less spar-y. He elbows her to the inside of her thigh to get her to loosen her grip on him and tries to come forwards again. 

When he tries, she sits up suddenly and pushes him back hard enough he flops on his back. When he tries to stand up, she spins around and sweeps his legs again. One of them is out of the way in time, but not the other, and he hops back awkwardly. 

With him on his feet and her on the ground, the advantage is his. He attempts to come in with a flurry of punches and elbows. 

He gets a couple in, and she stands up and hits him with an uppercut that knocks him off his feet. 

This is what she was training for since she could remember. He's been in the army his whole life – he's probably got a ton of hand to hand training. But she's been sparring since she could stand. It comes as naturally to her as breathing. 

Tank walks over him to make sure he's okay – but she's not an idiot. She approaches from the head side, out of range of his legs, so he can't kick her down. It's not necessary when sparring, but a good habit for when you're checking on a real enemy.

He rubs his jaw.

“Okay, fine,” he says standing up and smiling for one of the first time she's seen since they met. “You're better. This time.”

Tank grins and whacks him in the arm playfully again. “If I knew getting punched in the jaw warmed you up so much, I'd have hit you sooner.” 

“Very funny, Lieutenant,” he says. But he must have found it so, because he's still smiling.


End file.
